


Balance

by septiplier500



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Anal Play, Blow Jobs, Come Marking, M/M, Pole Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 13:51:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8893153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/septiplier500/pseuds/septiplier500
Summary: “Interestin’ position, Mark. Think ya can hold it?”

  Absolutely fucking not. 

  “Of course I can,” Mark breathes out, because he’s an idiot.
- Mark and Jack install a pole in their living room, and Mark shows off his skills... or lack of them.





	

**Author's Note:**

> [Rebloggable version on Tumblr](http://septiplier500.tumblr.com/post/154473113927/balance).

It was originally a joke to install it in the living toom. 

Mark grips the pole and hoists himself up on it, thighs clasping loosely as he drifts into a slow downward rotation. He can feel Jack’s eyes on him, tracking every shift of muscle beneath Mark’s golden skin, and it makes him work harder to keep his movements deceptively smooth, feigning confidence to hide his discomfort on the pole.

Mark leans back, arching his broad, naked chest, and releases one hand from the pole. It bows his upper body out, stomach muscles taut, and for a long moment he hangs like that, thighs squeaking briefly on the pole to keep him from falling. He folds his arm behind his head, splaying his fingers between his shoulder blades, before drawing his hand up over his already unkempt hair. He drags the lank red-dyed strands in his eyes as he moves his hand across his face and down past his neck, letting his nails skim over his chest, faint scratches left in the wake of his own touch.

He’d say something sexy, but he doesn’t trust himself not to make in into a joke. The last thing he needs to do is make himself laugh and fall on his ass. Being sensual and not smarmy about pole dancing is hard enough already.

  
Mark gets his hand back on the pole, shimmying a little to get back up about a foot so he has more room to work. He flips backwards again, this time wrapping his legs around the pole so he can drop both hands and hang upside down. 

Unfortunately he immediately starts sliding, gritting his teeth as he struggles to reposition his ankles. “Oh, you _little bitch_ ,” he hisses at the pole, wincing as his thighs squeak again. He has no choice but to put his palms on the floor to stop his descent, face flushing at his failure.

Jack sees it differently, apparently, because he’s up out of his chair and stalking over like Mark’s caught in a trap Jack set himself. 

“Interestin’ position, Mark,” he comments loftily, hand skimming over the scant black boyshorts Mark’s wearing to keep his dick from flopping all over the place. Mark grinds his teeth again, arms trembling. “Think ya can hold it?”

Absolutely fucking not. 

“Of _course_ I can,” Mark breathes out, because he’s an idiot.

“Cool,” says Jack, tugging Mark’s underwear up to reveal his half-hard cock. He tucks the elastic band just behind Mark’s balls to keep his underwear out of the way, and Mark’s cock stirs in the mildly chilly air. Jack leans down, moving into a partial crouch to lick a kiss along the veined underside of Mark’s immediately thickening erection. 

“Oh shit,” Mark grunts. 

“Don’t make me accidentally bite ya,” Jack warns, warm laughter ghosting over Mark’s length, and then he’s sucking the head into his mouth.

“Sure thing,” Mark says with only a little bit of sarcasm, nails biting into the floor. His entire body is shuddering, blood rushing between his head and his erection.

Jack’s sloppy but enthusiastic about giving blowjobs, and he has Mark completely hard in no time despite the painfully awkward position. He’s also got Mark’s balls in his palm, rolling the pad of his thumb across the soft, fuzzed skin of his sack, and Mark can’t stop his toes from curling. “Could do whatever I want t’ ya in this position,” Jack muses as he stops to draw a breath. He skims his free hand over Mark’s straining stomach, petting the wispy trail of hair there.

“Yeah, sure, like crack my skull, or-” Mark starts, but the sentence stutters into a groan when Jack reaches around him and grips his ass through the shorts. “I don’t know where you’re headed with that hand,” he pants, adjusting his hands to give his elbows a break, “But it’s probably a bad idea.”

“Just wanna touch ya some,” Jack promises, kneading Mark’s ass appreciatively. He laps at Mark’s cock, wet and noisy, and Mark can only let his head hang and moan. “Ya put on such a _good show_ , Mark. Can’t blame a guy for wantin’ ta show his _appreciation_ …” 

No, Mark definitely can’t blame him. In fact, blame is the furthest thing from his mind right now, with Jack’s mouth and hands swapping places so he can suck on Mark’s balls and jack him off. It’s a slightly awkward angle for Jack’s wrist, but he seems to be managing just fine, working Mark’s cut, spit-wet cock with fast, uneven strokes. Mark has to keep flexing his fingers and adjusting his palms on the floor to keep his hands from going to sleep, but the uncomfortable prickling is absolutely worth it. 

It’s when Jack starts circling his fingertip against Mark’s hole that Mark really has to lock his elbows. Jack doesn’t fuck him, he just teases him with the idea, massaging tender flesh with his callouses and humming in appreciation – a sound that has Mark curling his toes as it rumbles against his sack. 

“Okay, fuck,” Mark says, gritting his teeth, “Babe, you gotta either let me come or let me down.” 

Jack apparently chooses the former over the latter, because teeth scrape Mark’s balls as he starts sucking hard, hand stripping Mark’s dick so fast that Mark ends up dribbling precum on himself. It patters his chest, but a drop catches the underside of Mark’s chin, and he groans loudly. When he comes, he’s going to get it all over himself. 

“Guess the show’s not over,” Mark slurs, licking his lips. 

Mark’s thighs squeak once on the pole as he skids just an inch lower – he tightens his legs, hyper-aware of how all of his body weight is relying on his hands now; the pole just a prop he’s using to keep from falling over. When he turns his head, he can see his already fairly pronounced arm veins are even more apparent, straining over clenched muscle. More precum splashes his beard. 

Blood is roaring in his ears, a constant growling throb that makes it harder and harder to focus, his thoughts becoming indistinct syrup he can’t hope to parse.  
He thinks – or he thinks he thinks, anyway, it’s hard to make sense of anything anymore beyond how badly he wants to come – he might pass out. His aching eyes feel scratchy-dry so he closes them, and it’s like a switch is being flicked and he’s suddenly suspended in darkness, head swimming, all equilibrium lost.  

Mark comes with a soundless scream, spine arching dangerously; come splatters his front, shooting across his stomach and chest, gravity bringing it down across his collarbone and chin. Jack milks him firmly through his orgasm, mouth gentle on his balls, kissing and licking away the vague ache of his earlier bites. Mark feels as high as he’s ever been without medical grade morphine involved, tingling from his scalp to the soles of his feet, lips feeling swollen when he licks them again. 

Jack wisely moves after that, holding Mark’s thighs and helping him bring his legs down to the floor before he fucking collapses. Mark’s body pours like liquid beneath Jack’s careful movements and prodding, ending up in a drunken sprawl on the floor with his head in Jack’s lap and his brain still somewhere in the clouds. 

Jack pets Mark’s sweaty hair out of his face, his fond smile swimming in and out of Mark’s damp vision. “Yer a fuckin’ treasure, Mark,” he says, rubbing feeling back into Mark’s jellied arms, “Ya did fuckin’ _amazin’_ , holding yerself up like that for so long.” 

“Mm,” says Mark, closing his eyes again. 

His drying come has gotten sticky and flakey by the time he’s done floating, and Mark starts itching it out of his beard as soon as he notices. “I like how when you say you can do anything to me, you just make me jizz all over myself,” he says, laughing, and Jack’s fingers join his in scratching the thicker patches of dried ejaculate off his chest and stomach. 

“It’s one of my favorite things,” enthuses Jack. He scoots out from beneath Mark’s head, careful not to let Mark’s still swimmy skull thump on the floor. “C'mon. Only thing that’s gonna clean that mess up is a bath.” 

Mark is inclined to agree, so he lets Jack help him up, wrapping one hand around the pole for leverage in doing so. 

He likes the pole. The pole can stay. 

“Afterwards it’s my turn on this thing,” Jack adds, keeping an arm around Mark. 

Jack can stay, too.

**Author's Note:**

> If you _liked_ this fanfiction, punch that kudos button in the face! ;) 
> 
> And as always, I will see you... on [Tumblr](http://septiplier500.tumblr.com/).


End file.
